


Biology Lesson

by WindwiseWords



Series: Clone Culture [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Brooding Cycles, Clone Sex, Eggs, First Time, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Military Ranks, Multiple Partners, Oviposition, Porn With Plot, Self-Lubrication, Sticky, Wet & Messy, just a little, ovipositor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Not even the best Jedi can hold back a biological imperative. Wolffe can't find his general, and when he finally does, a problem arises.





	Biology Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> So college kills muses, but here's that smut I promised like 3 times. It doesn't really have an end, left it open for possible future expansions. We'll see. I kinda take my liberties with the anatomy, some ideas dotted around, some my own. For anyone that cares, the eggs are blue-green.

Wolffe’s turn to panic. The General turned up missing once more, and this time there was no note, no dark brooding Kel Dor in his quarters. They did a sweep of the ship, finding one Kel Dor scan, so he had to be on board.

The commander stalked up and down the halls with his brothers rhythmically, patterned and even as they scoured the ship.

“Sir! Sir…” A medic ran up, panting from his long run. “You’re needed in the ward. It’s critical.” Wolffe would deny the request, but something in the medic’s eyes spoke of a private matter. He nodded and rushed off to the med bay, hoping it wasn’t an accident.

 

When Wolffe arrived, the ward’s silence stunned him. Most patients discharged, treated, or too critical to speak, the medics busy with other tasks, the only one that surprised him was Sinker.

Sinker, formally trained but repurposed, waved him into the private space. “He came to us, sir. And the scans I took are confusing at best.” He let the commander push past him to get to the Kel Dor in a bed, a low to the ground one with a small stand. Sinker put the scans up on the screen. “First thing I noticed is his color… The general does kind of change colors with stressors but never that color. His nerves are all firing off rapidly. He’s in pain and freezing cold compared to his usual temperature.”

Wolffe hesitated at the edge of the bed, finding him apparently asleep but as soon as he went to touch him, the General rolled away. Wolffe gritted his teeth. “He’s sick, so give him something for it.”

Sinker rubbed the back of his head. “I wouldn’t say sick. I did some looking into it, actually contacted a doctor on Dorin that a medic was privately working with, some pen pal system they set up to exchange biological data and info. I’d scold him but without that doctor I’d never know what these were.”

The scan showed around seven, maybe eight hard and ovoid shapes. They were so dense that unlike bones, they showed up near-solid white. Wolffe stared at it in confusion before looking to the General.

“Sinker just tell me how to fix this, kriffin’ hells I can’t read that black and white garbage.” Wolffe snapped, and very tenderly gathered Plo up into his arms. He sensed the tension in the usually sturdy but relaxed body. “He’s as cold as he felt on that ice world…”

Sinker nodded and pulled up a translucent overlay of Kel Dor biology. With some embarrassment, he took a breath. “The doctor called it a ‘brooding cycle.’ They’re eggs, Wolffe.” Another pause. “He’s been hiding it long past the time, too.”

Wolffe stared blankly at Sinker, then looked at Plo who refused to meet his gaze. Shame. He felt shame. “Do any others know, Sinker?” Sinker shook his head, surprised by the relaxed way Wolffe reacted. That was not the Wolffe MO. “Save the info privately, on my files, and destroy any hard evidence. He doesn’t want others to know. And leave us alone. I’ll com you if anything changes.”

Sinker came over and Wolffe snapped out of his haze to bare his teeth, a feral warning. Sinker ignored it to offer Plo a container of that overly sweet juice made for his kind. “Make sure to drink this, sir.” He ordered the General in his ‘medic’ voice, then left.

Wolffe didn’t get angry this time, no, he was too uncomfortable with his lack of knowledge on the subject. “Sir?” He prompted, firmly, holding him against his chest and shuffling to brace a leg on each of his sides.

“I take medications to avoid this, weaken the shells so they are broken and reabsorb naturally.” A soft voice, like they were on Dorin instead of the ship. Wolffe listened close, resting Plo’s head along his shoulder. He could smell that rosewood scent that laced his skin oil, the kind he used to keep oxygen’s drying effects at bay. “I stopped taking them. They began to make me feel ill, and the medical scan revealed they were affecting various organs.”

Wolffe grumbled and curled himself around his General, foregoing regulations in Plo’s moment of need to comfort him. “We’ll find new ones.”

“It’s too late for this cycle, Wolffe.” Too late, meaning he would die? Plo felt Wolffe’s panic flood the force, as weak his grasp on those more focused abilities currently took. “I will suffer through these pains and reabsorb the eggs naturally over the course of a week. It was foolish of me to not seek out other tablets, I thought my system wouldn’t catch up so quickly.”

Wolffe nestled into his general’s head, and Plo shivered before gently trying to escape his grasp. “General, you’re cold.” And that was all it took to get Plo to lay back against the blacks Wolffe wore. “How long will recovery take?”

Days, Plo thought. “Not too much time, and the men have you, Wolffe. They will be fine.”

No, they won’t, Wolffe thought. “I would like to know if there’s any way to help this pass faster, General Plo. I don’t… Nobody likes to see you suffer.” Plo least of them all deserved to suffer.

Plo shifted away, despite Wolffe’s growl of protest deep in his chest. He shifted slowly to look at his dutiful commander, always trying to assist him. Something primal inside said take the help, but he pushed it away. “You do not understand, Wolffe.” Plo said quietly. “Kel Dor require a secondary party to pass their eggs safely. A host. Otherwise there are risks to… sensitive anatomy.”

Plo watched Wolffe’s mind stall, restart, and catch up. A creeping red crawled out from behind his ears and nervously he scooted back, ashamed he just practically propositioned his superior officer. “I didn’t know sir, sorry sir.” He babbled quickly, stuttering over his words until Plo raised a hand.

“You did not know. It is not part of your biological imperative.” Plo patted Wolffe’s knee, that pang of desire to curl up with this potential host aching somewhere in his core with the eggs. “The pain is simply from holding them too long. My body will correct itself soon enough.”

Wolffe was silent, and Plo saw him weighing options. Wolffe was weighing the repercussions and consequence of his next words but decided to offer them anyways. “Troopers… Help each other out all the time. Like this, but… Not.” Wolffe started and Plo made that soft hiss-gasp of disapproval, not at the idea of troopers having intercourse but the idea any trooper would be alright with hosting.

“It is not the same. It would lay up any Kel Dor for at least three days, and I’ve no baring on the damages it could do to a clone trooper. I refuse to consider—”

“Well I don’t.” Wolffe cut him off and growled, patience gone on the subject and he quickly composed himself. “I’m no medic, but you have to have some kind of biology for eggs, right? I mean if the male has the eggs, then the female…” He trailed off and juggled air with his hands, looking at Plo for help. “Do you need, uh… A lady friend, sir?” Wolffe couldn’t imagine it.

Plo stared at him, Wolffe could feel it, with tired exasperation. “No, Commander. For the most part, Kel Dor male and female outward expressions are identical, save for chest tissue on females, and a longer center claw on males. Young Kel Dor must be blood tested, until their voice matures.” Plo chuckled softly despite himself. “I do not need what clones refer to as a ‘one-night stand at the barracks.’ If that was the case I would have asked to stop by Dorin.”

Wolffe mumbled a quiet ‘oh,’ and continued to think, that blush spreading. “You need a host sir, we can’t be without you until your body decides to take up the eggs again. It’s just how your biology works, any one of us would understand.”

Plo made that hiss again and shook his head in earnest. “It should be something controlled, commander, and I will not consider my crew in such a light.” Yes, you will, his body stated, and as Wolffe sat up straighter the strength in his body caught Plo’s focus. He removed his hand from Wolffe’s knee and the desire snapped like a rubber band.

Wolffe wasn’t the wiser to it, getting angry now. He took Plo’s shoulders, albeit gentler than usual when he got insistent in their private arguments, and showed just a flash of those sharp teeth. “You can’t control this any more than every soldier here can control a morning hard-on, sir. Excuse my crass language.”

Plo chuckled as the red spread and sighed. It was a point of shame in the Jedi Order that he had to fight while maturing. The lack of alien understanding to host-sire systems of reproduction left him with a mark of shame of his own biology. “You are excused, Wolffe. I think it’s a perfect analogy, were it that such a response held up troopers for potentially a week or more.”

Wolffe groaned and firmly tugged the Kel Dor back to his chest, lacing his legs over him and holding him in the full body lock he used on Boost when vaccine day rolled around. Plo tensed, then relaxed against the warmth and for once it was he that nestled into his commander. Wolffe absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder. “I’d do it for you, sir. I could catch up on paperwork.” The words were out before Wolffe could catch them, but he let the situation unfold. “Just tell me what I’d have to deal with.”

His loyalty knew no bounds, Plo thought, and for a moment caught himself wishing it were easier to just say yes. “There are seven eggs on the scan. They are about this size.” He took Wolffe’s hand and balled it into a tight fist minus his little finger. “That alone should be enough to push the idea out of your head, Commander.” The size…

Wolffe swallowed hard. How to tell his commander that he often let his pack service him all at once, as many that could fit in the tangle of limbs and bodies…

Wolffe cut the thought off before he got a stiffy from just the memories. “I can handle that, sir.” He said weakly. “I would just need some preparation… Gods this is just… Sir, just let me handle it okay? I can handle this for you!”

Plo sensed the frustration mounting in his Commander and looking up at his face saw a determination and shyness that rarely graced his features. His commander was handsome, there was no ugliness in that scar or his snarling behavior. The sheer strength he carried sent Plo almost dizzy with his instincts, a punch to the gut that demanded he take this host up on his offer.

A wave of pain caused by the rush made him twitch and tense; Wolffe worriedly held him through the event. Plo endured pain, but never like this. He couldn’t last it, he overestimated himself, and when it finally passed, Plo was nodding.

“Alright. Take whatever time you need. I’ll give this an attempt. But if anything begins to go wrong…”

“It won’t, sir. I just need to borrow some… Personnel, sir… I uh.” He swallowed hard. “I need to borrow Boost and Sinker. And some… Some items from the storeroom.” Wolffe had a way of going about taking his pack. Plo would have to adapt as well, just as he was to his General’s needs. Wolffe gently lay him back onto the bed, and shuffled around to get him a heated blanket, putting the control in Plo’s hand. “I’ll send Sinker to escort you, sir. Do you mind if… If we use the barracks? We’re in the command space so it’s further from the troops.”

Plo swallowed his embarrassment, unlike Wolffe who was red as a rose. “Yes, Commander. That will be just fine.”

 

 

“Are you sure about this, sir?” Boost asked quietly, the three heads of command for the Wolfpack cuddled up in a pushed-together mess of their bunks, layered with blankets and cushions. Plo liked those things.

Wolffe nodded, though words were lost to him as Sinker’s first well-slicked finger slid into his rear. He huffed and relished the feeling of Boost’s hands pressing against his body.

“Gods you’re beautiful, Wolffe.” Sinker whispered, then grinned as teeth flashed at him. Wolffe never did take praise well. “Sorry, right. We’re on a schedule.” And almost cruelly he removed the first finger to add a second, making Wolffe groan. “You still want that briefing?”

“Yes. Before we get too far along with this.” Wolffe huffed, then twitched with Boost’s roaming hands dragging along tense muscles.

“Kel Dor have anywhere from two to six shafts, and a separate one for the eggs.” Sinker scissored his fingers, stretching out that ring of muscle. Wolffe needed to be ready. They’d brought something for that. “I’ve no idea about the General. I know you’ll need to take them all, but they’re more long than thick based on the… Ahem. Detailed images provided by that doctor.”

“They’re medical diagrams, Sinker, don’t be weird.” Boost grumbled, sliding down to take the head of Wolffe’s cock in his mouth. He hollowed out his cheeks, having no mercy on the commander at all. Wolffe keened.

The entire idea of the session wasn’t only to loosen him up but to perhaps link the ideas of Kel Dor with something familiar, so he wouldn’t be as tense for the… Laying. Wolffe didn’t like the idea, the word, but it was lost to Sinker adding a third finger and pulling him open slowly, wide.

“Seven eggs, Wolffe. You’re going to be so full. That’d take the entire pack.” Boost murmured, and Sinker gave him a look.

“You’re actually worked up over the idea?” Boost shrugged and stared challengingly.

“You tell me that we haven’t stuffed him full of toys before, and he didn’t react beautifully?” Boost picked one up, a vibrator procured from a small shop on Coruscant. It was known for selling to clones, at least among the clones. They broke easily but were a scarce few credits a piece, making it possible for the more daring to indulge.

Indulge Boost did, letting Sinker spread him wide again before pushing the toy up into his Commander, nudging it around for that spot he loved so much. “This is a new strange for even us.” Sinker commented, taking the remote and slowly turning it up. Wolffe jerked on his fingers and pushed back against them, abdomen tensing til his muscles defined rock hard. Boost smirked and rolled his eyes.

“We should just call him now. Nobody can resist you when you’re like this.”

Wolffe tried to make words, and managed to swallow his panted breaths. “N-Need to be ready.”

“Shh, you’ll be ready, Wolffe.” Boost assured, and when Sinker stretched him this time, adding a fourth finger, Boost took a bottle of lubricant and poured it over him, letting Sinker’s fingers work him soft. It was less he needed to be worked open, and more that he needed to have softened muscles. There was a difference, according to Sinker.

The fingers moving in him just weren’t long enough, the toy not quite strong enough; he was left hard and began to drip, stamina not breaking and allowing him that relief his body craved, not quite the same as a brother’s shaft moving inside him. Wolffe whined, a high-pitched and needy sound.

“He wanted us to tie him, but I don’t think the General would go for that.” Sinker stated, free hand on his own shaft as he worked himself up for what Boost got after. Boost had two fingers up his own hole, lip caught in his teeth.

“He’ll be a wanting mess after this. You know he can’t finish without a cock up his ass, or his in an ass.” Boost gasped, brokenly, Wolffe finding his hands functional and reaching for Boost. “You know I’m almost jealous.”

Sinker let out a breathless laugh. “Jealous huh? We’ll have to get something to fill you up too then.”

Wolffe tried to push harder back on Sinker’s hand, but the deal was he wouldn’t get it all. So he lay caught between his need, and the rules he lay out ahead of time.

 

An hour of just teasing him open left Wolffe tense, resting on the bed after a trip to the showers. He lay naked and still slightly damp in the beds, Boost and Sinker’s combined scents lingering around him.

Plo came down the hall with Sinker and Boost, quietly talking logistics of the less pure kind with them. What Wolffe liked, what he didn’t. Plo was no virgin, no, he’d done this before. But never with one he had some care for, not like this.

“He’s just about as worked up as he can get, so he may pounce you, sir.” Boost explained. “He wanted us to tie him for that reason but I don’t think you’d like that.”

Plo nodded worriedly. Tie him? He never understood troopers’ desires. “Thank you for considering that. I will com Sinker if there are issues.” And with that he opened the door, and keyed in the lock code behind him.

Plo could see easily in the dim light, Wolffe resting—trying to rest—on the bunks. “Commander?” Soft, just like Plo waking him up for something unimportant. At least not critical.

Wolffe rolled over and offered a half-smile. “Still want to this, sir?”

Plo wrung his hands a bit, and slowly came over. He was in Wolffe’s territory now, and was invited into the bed with a wave. He wore his thick robes, and the tight bindings, and his linen pants, and nothing else.

Wolffe was on him just as the troopers warned, but only to cuddle him close, nudging and moving him along his naked body. Plo’s turn to ‘blush’ with his colors, a faint stripe of red-brown turning a red-cream across his jawline. Clawed hands found his commander’s chest, and he decided to take charge, pushing him down against the mattress pad and then bringing him to his own chest.

Wolffe complied easily. Plo could smell the hormones raging, a sort of intoxicating scent to the brooding Kel Dor. “You did not have to go through so much trouble for me, Commander.” Plo said quietly, then sighed. “I apologize if my body is not as appealing to you as your fellow trooper.”

Wolffe tensed, and instantly pulled the robe open. He nestled into smooth, tough skin, resisting the urge to bite or kiss or lick. Plo froze up stiff, unsure of the actions.

“Sir, you’re strong, and smart, and compassionate. You’re any bit as appealing as they are.” Wolffe blushed and kept his gaze on that brown skin, finally the right color again, for the most part. “Sorry sir, I…”

“It is fine Commander. It’s nice to know.” Plo chuckled, relieved that Wolffe saw through their differences, at least this far. Plo let his own hands roam, tracing muscles, seeking out characteristics that made a good host. His claws were gentle brushes along skin, not cutting, just grazing with faint white lines that ghosted away. “They tell me you enjoy touch.”

“Yes, yes sir!” He gasped, Plo finding a sensitive line along the pocket of his hipbone. Plo tensed, then grazed the spot again, rubbing slow circles there. “K-Kriff, sir…” He breathed, and Plo drank in the reactions. A willing host, one that accepted him, one that begged for touch. This was almost new, his partners of the past willing, just not this openly.

Plo pushed his robes off, laying them to the side, and pulled Wolffe over his body. He was heavy, sure, but Plo needed the contact. He wheezed softly as a hand pressed just along his belly, and Wolffe jerked.

“Bad or good?” So simple a question.

“…Good.” Plo nodded, and the pressure there came back, a massaging force of strong, controlled hands. Plo felt his genital slit begin to feel tight, and he paused those hands with all his willpower. “I have to…” Wolffe was already on it, stripping off the linen underlayer and pausing. The wraps went from where a bellybutton would be to the end of his pelvis, thick bandages that made him worry the General was hurt.

“Sir?” They were no briefs, that’s for sure.

“Different anatomy requires different undergarments, Commander.” Plo teased softly, and paused the hand going to unwrap them. “I warn you, it’s not anything like what you have.”

Wolffe grinned and nodded. “I’d… Almost be disappointed if it wasn’t, sir.” Sinker worked him up well with the idea that this was new and strange, just like their toys. Only this time it wasn’t a cold object, but his dear General coming to him for help. He let out a breath and began to peel the wrappings away and down, surprised to see the slit. “Sir?” The general had explained things, but he saw no shafts as Sinker mentioned…

Plo took Wolffe’s hand, placing it on his belly where he pressed before. Wolffe started again, and Plo continued with his hips. Straddled over him, Plo took in the entirety of his commander, and gently brushed his hand over his shaft. It twitched. Wolffe flustered embarrassedly as he curled a hand around it, but as Plo stroked forward, Wolffe all but melted in his grasp.

“Let things progress, commander.” Wolffe got a few strokes, then Plo let him go, and Wolffe began to let things progress as instructed. He smoothed his hands along that slit, the skin at the edges softer but not like the rare females he’d bedded. Plo made a soft croon somewhere deep in his chest, and much to Wolffe’s surprise, a sticky lubricant rose up from the slit before something a distinct ‘healthy pink’ poked up as well. Two to six, Wolffe remembered, and with a shaky hand grazed his finger over the tip of the first shaft.

It was thin at the tip and grew as his touch coaxed it free. He grinned and let it coil in his fingers, Plo starting to writhe in his touch. That made him feel good, giving his general some much needed relief. “Sir?”

Prompted from his pleasure, Plo came back to the situation and nodded, then tensed. The shafts tucked inside all surged at once and he gasped, gripping onto Wolffe for grounding. “Spirits help me…” Plo whispered, and Wolffe became worried, slowly untwining his fingers with the long pink tendril. “I’m fine. This is a common issue with Kel Dor.” Plo carefully pressed on the sides of his slit, gasping again.

Wolffe took a moment to realize that Plo had gotten stuck. It would’ve been comical if not for the nuance to the situation. The commander gently slipped a finger into each side of the slit, easy with all the lubricant, and pulled the gap open. Three more shafts sprang out to meet him, and instantly found his hands and fingers.

“C-Commander!” A gasped sort of thank you, and Wolffe didn’t stop with freeing them. He explored, carefully, sensing the flesh of the four tendrils was softer than his own, more like the tip of his cock.

Plo managed to regain some control of himself and went to tease his commander’s length again. He paused though, seeing clear beading up at the tip. With the pad of his finger, he curiously rubbed against it, and Wolffe jerked wildly, involuntarily atop the general’s lap.

“Good or bad, Wolffe?” A gasped series of little sounds indicated good. Plo curiously pulled his finger away, seeing the clear material stuck there. “Lubricant?” He questioned, letting Wolffe come back to the situation.

“P-Precome, sir… Before a climax. I’ve been told I’m very messy.”

“Suiting, considering Kel Dor are messy in general.” And the four tendrils were showing that, slicking up the hands teasing them. Plo carefully moved Wolffe’s hips and hands, guiding him with just light nudges of a palm. “This is something many Kel Dor find appealing. It should carry over.” Wolffe was about to ask what, but the position and freeing of his hands, the tendrils attacked the next warmest thing present: his cock, so skillfully positioned in the mass of tendrils.

Both men gasped, clinging to each other as Wolffe instinctively rutted into them and the tendrils coiled and rubbed against his shaft with hot wet heat. He needed. Wolffe needed badly, and without thinking about it twice took two of those slicked fingers of his and shoved them into his ass, seeing stars for just a moment. But he couldn’t finish. It still wasn’t what he needed. Frustration bled into his force signature, and he rutted into the tendrils with abandon, chasing a climax that he’d never get.

Plo allowed this, not out of cruelty, but out of awe. He looked so stunning this way, at Plo’s whim but different than how their relationship worked usually.

“Commander…” He trailed off, carefully moving Wolffe to rest over the slit. “These may feel better.” He recommended, voice tight but even as always. Plo couldn’t move the tendrils much but he could direct them, and as soon as one found Wolffe’s fingers, it pushed to join them only to realize it found a much more suitable space.

Wolffe crumbled, the swift entry of more tendril stunning him into curling over the general and sobbing out his pleasure with his general’s name. Plo’s body began to tamp down his pleasure, other ideas in mind that couldn’t be completed if he wore himself out with a climax. Plo stroked Wolffe’s insides with that shaft, semi-prehensile and searching. It was long, longer than Boost or Sinker, and Wolffe couldn’t help but pray he could fit all of those writhing tendrils. A second found his hole, easily sliding in with the first. They coiled, searching for something but unable to find it.

Plo made that deep-chested rumbling croon, punctuated by a click-chirp. Wolffe knew the sound as one of great pleasure, and looked up to see his general’s head tipped back in his own kind of desire. When they met eyes, goggles to bicolor, Wolffe blushed wildly.

It only got worse when he realized Plo had fallen into that sort of ‘rut’ that some clones got after a hard battle. “S-Sir, I can take more.”

Plo carefully moved to cradle him forward while the shafts ceaselessly rubbed and filled his insides. “I intend to give you all of them.” A soft almost growl, not unlike Wolffe, and the last two shafts plunged into him. A stretch, his muscles already tensed back from his earlier session, but pliable enough that it was a beautiful, heated burn that soaked through his core and down to his toes. Wolffe lost himself in a high whine, finally climaxing all over himself and his general.

Plo was surprised, unsure what to expect out of a clone’s climax, but found his belly and the top of his slit soaked in warm sticky something. Wolffe’s breath came in pants with small whines, the orgasm not nearly enough to sate him, but it did make him all the more sensitive.

“Sir, please!” Wolffe begged, hips caught between grinding back on those tendrils and pulling away.

Plo worried. He’d never seen his commander so openly emotional and demanding, desiring. “Are you alright, Commander?” Wolffe collapsed forward and pressed his face against Plo’s chest, mumbling softly about how he was cursed and blessed. Plo relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry, commander, I couldn’t take them out if I wanted to.” Wolffe growled and forced his hips back, taking the last bit that the position didn’t quite allow. It was enough a shock the tendrils coiled back, and with that found that special spot along his prostate.

Wolffe had issues with sensory stimulation, after his injury. He strived to find things that just made him feel MORE. Plo made him feel most at that moment, and he cried out and sat up ramrod straight, grinding along Plo’s lap.

The general wheezed and tried to catch his breaths, a sudden tight squeeze from Wolffe’s muscles enough to compact his tendrils and tug. It was as if Wolffe was trying to pull something from him. Plo’s body found it enough to react, and a fifth larger shaft, much more rigid, jutted forward from it’s hidden pocket among his slit. It poked Wolffe in the rear, and squished to the side, making Plo gasp heavily.

Wolffe stopped, lifting up enough to stare. “S-Sir, that one’s bigger…” For the first time, some uncertainty. Plo caught his breaths.

“That is an ovipositor, commander. Not a shaft.” Plo explained, and Wolffe was quiet. “I can’t stop now, Wolffe. If you have second thoughts, you’ll have to work yourself off me and go.”

Wolffe glared at Plo, almost insulted. “I’m not having second anythings, sir. J-Just—” He gasped, the coiling lengths finding that button again. He swallowed hard, one eye squinted shut in concentration. “Just not sure if I was prepped enough for that.”

Plo checked, much to Wolffe’s surprise, two careful talons slipping up into him. A tight fit, a tight squeeze around those fingers. Wolffe began to gulp down air; when they were taken away, Wolffe felt empty. Which made no sense, he was so full, but needed more. It was a sudden change, like someone flipped a switch, and Plo gently smoothed a hand over Wolffe’s belly.

“Most aren’t. You’ll do just fine, commander.”

“Sir, I feel odd…” He felt like a bitch in heat, and that warm heat was now a fire lancing all control from his mind, the control he fought so hard for. He was panting like his namesake, and looked desperately at Plo for answers.

Plo tilted his head. “I wasn’t sure it would work. The lubrication is supposed to communicate to a partner desire, but you didn’t react at first touch, so I assumed you didn’t have the receptors.” But the inside of his body was softer, more permeable, and it took time but Wolffe was taking to the chemicals. Plo rubbed Wolffe’s hip again, and the commander bit his lip hard with a series of whining gasps once more.

“Empty, sir!” He pleaded. Plo chuckled, still not entirely enraptured. That would come soon, with the eggs. But first.

“Hold still, Wolffe.” He commanded, and Wolffe tried his best. The tip of the ovipositor slid into him, but Wolffe quickly squirmed and forced himself onto it. It was as big as three of the smaller shafts, but he felt no burn of pain, only lust. Plo shushed his soft cries of distress, only sated momentarily when the length was seated fully inside of him.

Plo never had a partner react this strongly, and wondered if Wolffe’s loyalty stretched even this far, that he had some small urge to sate his commanding officer. He pushed the ideas away for a later time, and let Wolffe squirm and grind atop him. With some careful maneuvering, and admittedly a touch of the Force, Plo managed to flip them.

Wolffe fought a moment, not usually the one on bottom even when he was target instead of shooter. But Plo stilled him with a hand on his chest. “It would be more difficult to fight gravity, than let the eggs progress naturally.” The feisty commander stilled and bit his lip, shaking now out of anticipation.

The process of laying into a host was not easy, not like the easy pleasure of rooting all four shafts in his strong commander and watching him fall apart. Plo bore down on the internal pouch, telling his own body he was ready, this was his host, and the world shattered into a hazy, dark and warm place somewhere in his mind. It was beyond euphoric, not so much a climax as a constant uphill swell of already intense pleasure. The chemicals tamping down his arousal released, and all that he couldn’t feel before flooded into his system.

Wolffe felt the switch in Plo’s behavior, and gripped onto his side with one hand. A strange desire came over him, despite his needy position, and he rubbed a hand as best he could along Plo’s belly. Plo twitched and Wolffe could feel muscles working overtime, and so focused on that and his need, he startled as the first hard, round object pushed against his rear.

Wolffe fretted a moment, mostly over the worry it wouldn’t fit. He felt so full already, but there was relentless pressure behind that egg, and with a sharp gasp it popped through the tense rim of muscle now loosened with stretching. But that wasn’t the end of it like Wolffe figured it’d be. He felt it stretch him inside, all the way down, but those strange chemicals Plo mentioned seemed to bury any pain.

The commander couldn’t think past that egg, and when it finally settled at the tip of the ovipositor, he had no relief. It was heavy, dense just like in the scans, and he could feel it well. Strange, but he finally began to have less desire to be filled. Distantly he realized it was probably going to hurt later, but he forgot about that as a second egg forced its girth inside. The third followed much faster.

Wolffe and Plo were caught up so much in their own separate pleasures they failed to really see each other, but as eyes met by chance, Wolffe came immediately, a fast raging burn rather than the long drawn out one from earlier. When it faded just as quickly as it came on, he felt something hot and thick filling him just as the eggs did, four settled in him and five pushing in.

“G-General…” He moaned, a hand going to his own belly, where a slight raise in the hard muscle indicated the eggs, and what he could only assume was cum. “S-So much, sir.”

Plo’s clicking-croon echoed in his chest, barely hearing the words but the recognition of how much Plo offered satisfied his primal desire to sire upon his host a healthy large clutch.

Six eggs in, and full beyond explanation to his body, Wolffe felt a shift in Plo again, the last egg pushing hard against his body and slipping in with ease the others didn’t know. Wolffe was spent, a mess of their fluids, and he felt more stuffed than ever, even when his brothers used the toys. Plo clicked at him something in his native tongue, the long euphoric process of laying fading off slowly. Wolffe didn’t understand at all.

“I’m fine, sir... A-Ah!” The sound was gasped, repeatedly, as Plo came once more with thick and hot liquid. The lubricant unable to reach him so well due to it, the high was wearing off, and Wolffe began to start feeling the effects of his General’s brood.

The first thing he realized is that he was very, very sore, but the time it took to settle the eggs left enough time for his body to somewhat get used to the stretch. The second was that Plo’s cum wasn’t drippy like his, it didn’t flow out, it stayed. Done with it all, Plo began to slide free, and Wolffe felt no remorse at the loss, his hands on his abdomen.

The last thing he noticed was that something was pressing very persistently on his prostate, and that his cock hadn’t softened at all the entire process.

Plo shook his head, forcing clarity forward, realizing he’d packed himself away in that slit and was left with a moaning, sweaty commander. Plo frowned, and moved to gently cradle him up to his chest and lap. Wolffe squirmed, the shifting of his body shifting the eggs.

“Gods…” Wolffe keened, a prayer for relief, found in Plo’s hand stroking his shaft.

“You did well, Commander.” That instinct wasn’t entirely sated, Plo needed to now protect his host from any threats. A hand lay over Wolffe’s on his belly, and rubbed softly. Wolffe sobbed quietly, a quiet thank you for the relief. “Are you in pain?”

Wolffe managed to gasp out words. “No, sir, so much…”

Plo nodded apologetically. “I know, I am sorry I did this to you, my Commander.”

Wolffe shook his head and grinned. “Best sex ever.” Blunt enough to make Plo ‘blush’ again, but he chuckled and rested his head on Wolffe’s sweaty hair.

“I am glad I could satisfy you, but you seem worked up still. Is that stamina, or something else?” Wolffe whined and nodded. “Something else. That spot.”

“P-Prostate, sir. Right on it… Kriffin’ hells!” He shifted just right, and the egg pressed hard. Wolffe came yet again, almost squealing with the sheer sensitivity. It wasn’t the worst he’d had it, a long day off with his brothers teasing each other for hours on end, but it was close.

“My dutiful commander, you’ve taken such good care of me. Let me take care of you.” Plo continued to stroke his Wolffe, despite the mess. “Should I call for your brothers?” He knew Wolffe needed comfort.

“Embarrassing…” Wolffe murmured, shaking his head and making a lazy grab for Plo’s cloak.

“Sinker is a medic, and Boost knows better than to talk. I will not mind them being here. But I will not leave.” He had to guard his host.

Wolffe considered his options, and shook his head. He’d stay with his General for now, enjoying the attention. His body felt heavy in two ways, tiredness sinking in, but he remained awake, just resting in the comfort that was Plo. Plo rested back letting Wolffe use him for a mattress, and pondered the implications this would have on their future.


End file.
